Author note:

I wanted to get more passage of time into chapter 26 than I was able to. I need to do at least a little of this romance from Tim's POV before leaving it, so I'm throwing up another Tim/Mary Sue chapter and hope you all don't want to kick me in the butt. Please, if you're at all sick of this mush, please just skip it. I admit it's indulgent on my part. And if you happen to like it, please do say so. I promise after this chapter that I'll spend more time doing Kristin and Nathan's wedding and Lucas's birthday, and maybe a Tony and Darwin update, okay? And then we'll get seaQuest out of dry dock, back in the water and everything back to "normal". Thank you to the loyal who have continued to read despite my crazy sidetracks. If you're still around and haven't said anything in a good long time, leaving a comment for chapter 27 or 28 would really help me out of a personal slump. I can't do this alone.


Chapter 28

Tim awoke disoriented. He still wore a blindfold and almost pulled it off before he realized he was still with Mary. He had slept all night with her in her hotel room. Fully clothed, the both of them, but still, he'd never done that before with a girl who had a choice. She'd been inside his mind and she still wasn't scared off. Unbelievable. Last night hadn't been a date, Mary had insisted. Well, then maybe he needed to quit dating because whatever last night was, it had been great. She sang and she kissed his neck and his cheek and she could knead out kinks in his back muscles better than any place he'd ever got a paid massage in the orient.

But it wasn't just all the things Mary did. After opening his mind, she had access to any embarrassing moment she cared to look at. She'd seen his disastrous date with Lonnie, for gosh sakes. But she didn't mock him over any of that. She used it to point out his virtue. And even after knowing what an awkward, mixed-up guy he really was, she still called him Sweety and held him tight and spoke with so much acceptance and compassion.

And then she cried. That husband of hers had really hurt her badly. Tim had been sorry Paul's image turned to dust with just one punch because he really wanted to beat the snot out of the guy who had taken a delicate flower and crushed her like this. When he felt her heave and sob against his chest like she did, it just about broke his heart. Tim had heard other guys talk about women crying and how much they hated it because it got on their nerves or was manipulative, but he just couldn't agree. Sure, he hated seeing Mary hurt so much, but it gave him such a rush to be the one she clung to. It was like she drew strength from his embrace somehow. But giving her strength didn't diminish his own. The more he comforted her, the better he felt, too.

She'd literally cried herself to sleep, snuggling her face against his chest and her shoulder into his side. And after her breathing slowed and he was sure she was asleep, she whimpered and called his name and begged him not to go. Like he had any intention to!

But eventually that cran-apple juice from the limo and everything he drank on the flight all caught up to him. Now he was lying in the dark and wondering how he could slip out from under her and sneak to the bathroom without waking her up. Could he somehow take the blindfold off to find the bathroom, but resist the huge temptation to look at her? He wasn't ever going to tell her that she couldn't scan him. It was freeing to let go and be known and accepted for who you really were. If he snuck a peek at her while she slept, she'd find out and he knew he'd feel like a heel. The only reason she'd agreed to any of this was on his promise to be blind. He wouldn't break that promise and lose her trust.

"Tim, sweety?" her voice said softly.

"I'm awake."

"Do you want to take the blindfold off?"

Didn't she have access to his thoughts when they were touching like this? "I've got to get to the bathroom and I have no idea where it is. Maybe you could just push me in the right direction."

"No." She paused, probably testing him to see how mad he would get over her refusal. He made a conscious effort to be calm. She chuckled. "It's okay, Tim. You can take it off. I'm not that cruel."

"Did I even think cruel? No, I didn't."

"No, but I think it would be cruel to ask you to keep it on any longer. You gave me a perfect night where I didn't have to worry about you being repulsed by my looks. I'll never forget last night, Tim. Never. I should have let you take it off sooner, and I'm sorry. I was being selfish."

"No, it's okay. I had a great night too. Are you sure you're ready for me to see you? I mean, most women hate how they look in the morning, don't they?"

She sighed. "I hate how I look all the time. You may as well see the worst. Go ahead."

He reached up to his face, but froze. She was still lying so close that he could feel her muscles tense up. "Would you remove it for me?" He knew she could tell that he was aching to feel her soft fingers on his face and that he'd asked in order to lure her in so he could feel her body close. But letting her do it also gave her control of the speed and she could direct his gaze to her advantage too. Wouldn't that make her less tense?

"Of course," she said gently. Her soft, warm fingers touched his face, starting at his lower jaw. Both hands moved slowly and she touched him far more than was necessary for it to be any kind of coincidence. She knew what he wanted and she was giving it to him! When her whole palms rested on his cheeks and she'd slipped her fingers under the cloth, she hesitated and he felt his heartbeat against her hands.

And all of a sudden, it was light. Everything was blurry without his glasses, but he could see that her skin was as pale as his and her hair was a brownish blonde. Her eyes looked green, but it could have been a trick of the morning light. Maybe he just wanted them to be green.

She chuckled. "Do you like green?"

"I like any color that belongs to you."

"They're green," she confirmed.

"Oh. Good. Yes, I do like green."

"Are you going to put your glasses on?"

In a flash of insight, he said, "No."

"No? But don't you want to find the bathroom?"

He turned his head and found the blurry outline of a door frame. "Found it." He pointed at it with his thumb.

"Come on, Tim. I braced myself for this. Let's just get it over with."

"Why? Wendy told me that you didn't like to turn off your natural abilities in order to be around people. But you know they want privacy, so you just isolate yourself instead. Well, this is my natural sight. Glasses aren't natural. They're tools. I can save them for reading and work. I don't need them to be with you."

She shook her head. "That has to be the most beautiful thing you've ever said. I'm trying to hold back my feelings because I'm wary of your disappointment, but I can't hold them back anymore. I love you, Tim." Her voice wavered with emotion, but she didn't pause. "There. I said it first. I know you haven't decided what you feel about me. That's all right. I know you're still curious about what I look like, but I've never met anyone who is more worried about hurting my feelings than you are right now. Please put your glasses on. I know I'll be okay. I know you'll still be my friend. I can deal with anything if I have a friend like you."

Love? You love me?

Yes. I love you. Look at me now and let yourself feel whatever comes.

He was overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her, but he didn't want to miss her lips. He reached into his pocket, found his glasses, and fumbled to get them unfolded and on his face before the magical moment ended. He forgot about taking in her whole form and analyzing it against cultural and societal norms of beauty. He forgot about thinking logically to form a nice, rational argument he could use when he defended her appearance in the email he'd eventually compose as follow-up to the "preliminary report" he'd fired off to Lucas, Miguel, and Wendy while riding here in the limo. No. All he could think about was finding her lips so he could press his own into them.

His glasses cleared the fog and he saw her face well enough to reach his goal. Heart pounding, he plunged into those luscious, pouting lips, pressing firmly, but not too hard. He closed his eyes directly after because he was too close to see anything anyway. Warm and tender, her lips were delicious without having any taste. Time stood still and he let joy fill him up and warm him down to the bone. He wasn't really thinking about how to breathe and by the time he realized he should have been breathing through his nose, he needed more air than he could get that way. He had to break the kiss in order to keep from passing out.

Gently, she pushed him off and broke directly into laughter. Melodious and contagious, he joined her as soon as he'd sucked in enough air. He saw her then, laughing. It didn't even occur to him that she was laughing at him, nor was he much shocked by her appearance. Okay, so she didn't match society's present narrow standards of beauty. Screw society. Her hair was dishwater blonde and disheveled, but that was to be expected after sleeping. He wasn't hung-up on hair anyhow. Her face was square, her nose was big, and her eyes were set far apart, with too-deep sockets and overly-rounded eyelids where almond-shaped seemed more the norm. Her eyes were green, but not that deep emerald seen on magazine covers. The green was yellowed like the inside of an avocado. And the first thought that came to him was sincerely not 'ugly,' but 'damn, I really could go for some guacamole right now'.

She must have read his mind because she laughed at his thought even harder than before. She laughed so hard, she had to get up. Or maybe she had to use the restroom too. He saw then that she was quite a bit larger than the navy would accept, and therefore not what he was accustomed to seeing on seaQuest. She didn't fit in with the beach bikini babes and barflies he'd previously ogled over either. However, she was a downright stunning example of what master painters called Rubenesque. Mary wouldn't have hit him over the head with a canvas for painting her hips full and lovely, like another subject had done right before he gave up portraits for landscapes. Mary's hips didn't have to be exaggerated to look beautiful. They were voluptuous and perfect already.

She gasped.

"Are you all right?" he asked, reaching for her reflexively.

"All right? I'm ecstatic! If I couldn't fall in love with a blind man, the next best thing was to find a painter who appreciated the concept of Rubenesque. I'm so sorry I doubted you, Tim. I didn't think anyone was capable of appreciating me, inside or outside."

He drew her in and held her tight and she held tight right back.

"I want you to come into my mind so you can be as sure of me as I am of you. But it will be harder for me to give that to you, because you're not a Receiver. I'm really drained emotionally right now, so give me a while. Tonight, maybe, or tomorrow."

"Take all the time you need." He headed for the door between their rooms so he could use the restroom on his side while she used the one on hers. When he returned, she had brushed her hair and changed into something less wrinkled. He stood there, just looking. It wasn't really admiring, although he did try to analyze a bit to see how others could have twisted "plain" and "different" so harshly into "ugly". All his brainpower couldn't figure it out, but he decided he didn't care. She loved him. What else mattered? "So what now, Beautiful?"

"Why don't you go visit the museum?"

"You won't come with me?"

She sighed. "I can't. Agoraphobia isn't something I can just turn off and on. Maybe one day I can meet your friends, one at a time, when I can block them properly, but a public place is just too much. Go. Enjoy it and tell me all about it. Transmit while you're there if you want. I'd rather see it through your eyes than mine anyway."

"You're just going to stay cooped up here?" He waved his arms around the small room.

She smiled. "This, coming from a guy who lives on a submarine. Yes, silly. I've got to make some calls and do some writing. Dinner tonight though?"

"At your place?"

"No, not yet. I ordered some organic fruits and vegetables that won't arrive until day after tomorrow. You're early, remember?"

"Can't say I'm sorry about it."

"Me either. But I don't have food to cook yet. We'll call room service or order in."

He wondered what all this was costing her. He wasn't exactly used to fancy five-star hotels and limos and first class plane tickets.

"Don't worry about it, Sweety. This is the closest thing I've had to a vacation in ten years. I think I can handle it." Mary moved in and let him kiss her again. He couldn't get enough of her. It was hard to leave after they'd spent the night together and shared so much. But she urged him, so he went. The limo had been engaged until her return trip, so the driver took him back to the city.

He wandered around the museum. The art was magnificent and he did enjoy it, but his mind was elsewhere. Mary had asked him to put his feelings into words last night. Why couldn't he do that? What exactly were these feelings roiling around inside? She said she loved him. Did he love her? Or was he just using that word because it was sounded like the proper response? She would know if he wasn't sincere. It was almost a relief to know he couldn't lie to her. He was terrible at lying, at least to people he cared about. It wasn't that he felt pressure to say it back. He didn't. But he knew he had a lot of emotional energy invested, knew he felt something, he just didn't know what to call it.

The second night, they watched a movie and played a game, but mostly they talked and laughed and cuddled a lot. She gave him another massage just before bedtime, but she didn't invite him to stay in her room this time.

"Let me rest tonight and tomorrow you can come into my mind."

Would that help him decide how he felt? Tim would miss her body close to his, but he really did need time to think. And it was hard to think when she was so goshdarned sexy. She had probably felt how close he was to chucking virtue and giving in to hormones. He was embarrassed when the thought occurred, but he caught her smiling when he checked her reaction.

"There is no way we're going to do anything I have to confess to Father Baker," she said.

"C-confess? Wait, are you Catholic?"

"Not yet. I called Father Baker when you were at the museum. I'm considering converting."

"You don't have to do that for me."

"I know. If it's for anyone, it's for your mother."

"My mother?"

"She'd like me better if I were a good Catholic girl, wouldn't she?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"And you're thinking about asking me to meet her at Christmas, aren't you?"

Dang. Would he ever be able to surprise her? "Yes, but my mother's not that bad, really."

"No, I can tell she's not."

"You would change your faith just to make my mother happy?"

"Well, not if it didn't make you happy too. But I don't see it as changing my faith. My beliefs aren't that different right now. It's just going through the formalities. I could be Confirmed by Easter."

This seemed like serious commitment to him. "You asked me where I saw our relationship going. What about you?"

"That's really up to you. I already told you how I feel. If you'll help me drive to San Diego and explain to her about not touching, I'll go meet your mother."

"Are you going as my friend or girlfriend?"

She smiled and those avocado green eyes sparkled. "Tim, write this down: I. Love. You. If you want me as your girlfriend, all you have to do is ask."

"Mary, will you be my girlfriend?"

"Yes," she laughed. "See? That wasn't so hard."

She didn't push him again to put his feelings into words, but he was starting to think that maybe it was love. He'd give it another day or two to be sure.


Mary knocked on the adjoining door the next morning. "Can I come in? I got you a mushroom omelet."

That sounded great. He stretched and yawned before he answered. "I'm not dressed yet."

"Stay under the covers," she said as she opened the door and entered.

"What if I'd just gotten out of the shower?" Tim teased as he put his glasses on and propped himself up on one elbow.

She waggled her brows. "I'd have got a free show."

He smirked, incredulous. She was just as modest as he was.

"Come on, I would have felt your panic and I'd have stopped."

Yes, that sounded more like it. He inhaled of breakfast's aroma. It smelled good. "You're so wonderful," he said lazily. He almost corrected it to 'that's so wonderful' but he knew it had been a Freudian slip.

She looked truly surprised. "I am?"

"Yes, you are. Mary, I think I could fall seriously in love with you."

She smiled, plucked up a mushroom slice from his plate and held it to his lips. He opened his mouth and let her pop it in. "I think you could too," she whispered. "Whatever you decide to call what you're feeling, it's more than I ever dreamed possible."

Hey, wait a minute. She'd been in his mind. Why didn't she already know what he felt? "What would you call it?"

"It doesn't matter what I'd call it. You define yourself, not me. When you come into my mind, you'll see how I define love. But your definition doesn't have to be the same. Everyone is different."

He ate absently, concentrating on her. "Was that how Paul was? His definition of love was different?"

"Oh no. I'm not sure he ever knew what love was, but he never fooled himself that he loved me. I'm the only one he fooled."

"He's lucky he's dead," Tim said matter-of-factly.

She frowned. "Why?"

"Because I'd make it my mission in life to make him sorry for what he did to you if he wasn't."

A smile. "I'm sure you would. Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"How do you feel about children? I didn't try to find out when I was reading you because I thought you should decide how you feel about me first."

"I don't know. Is it fair to have kids when you're at sea as much as I am?"

"It isn't whether you're with them all the time or not, Tim. It's what you do with the time you have. I do think there should be one full-time parent though."

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "So what does that mean for us?"

She laughed. "It means you're lucky I'm a ghostwriter who doesn't have to tour books because I can work from home and raise as many children as you have time to come home and conceive—that is, assuming you want children at all. Do you?"

Was she saying what he thought she was saying? Were they really having this conversation? "C-come home and conceive?"

"Yes. Are you uncomfortable talking about it?"

"I—uh, yeah, I guess so."

"Okay, we don't have to talk about it anymore. For the record, yes, I want to have children and I don't think a father being at sea is any obstacle to that." She emphasized 'a father' in such a way as he knew she was really talking about him, even in those vague terms. "You and I are better suited than just about anybody else to be apart. We can talk without vid-link, radio, Internex, satellites, and at any depth you happen to be. How many other people on seaQuest can do that?"

He chuckled. "The captain and Dr. Westphalen."

"But they're not apart, are they?"

He sighed. It appeared they were going to talk about this whether he liked it or not. And maybe he should just get it out in the open. "That's just the point. They're not apart." But they weren't really talking about the captain and the doctor. Why was it so hard to talk about his fears? "I don't know if I can hold a relationship and family together without being here."

"You're afraid I'd leave you like your friend Crocker's wife did, aren't you?"

He felt badly to have thought it, but it was true. He nodded without looking at her face.

"Take my hands, Tim."

He set his fork down and took her soft hands in his. He closed his eyes.

Can you hear me?

Yes.

Can you feel a direction to my voice? Can you try to follow it?

It feels like it always feels. Like you're in my mind.

Okay, let's start in your mind then. Open the beach and find me there. In less than a second, the beach appeared and she was there, this time how she really looked. He wondered if this image-changing thing was a woman trait because he remembered Wendy changing her appearance in a major way the first time she entered his dream. Mary's mind-image approached his with hands open. Take my hands in here and come with me.

He'd done a lot of weird things involving telepathy up to now. He was even starting to embrace his Transmission skills and feel comfortable with them. But going inside someone else's mind was new territory and he wasn't sure he was ready for it. Yet, ready or not, he did as she instructed and took her hands. Her mind image rose off the beach and flew, reminding him of how he'd flown with Wendy when they had to find the blood vessels in his back. But this time, she was leading and he was carried, not through one of his walls, but straight into the sun.

It was warm and bright, but never as hot as the real sun would be if you went right through it. On the other side of the light, he found himself in a library. It wasn't like a modern library with rows of computers and stiff chairs. It was like a private library with real wood walls and shelves of super-expensive leather-bound hardbacks. He just knew that if he pulled a book out, the pages would be gilded in gold leaf. A fire crackled in a fireplace and there were big upholstered chairs to sit in. This is my sanctuary, Mary said softly.

It's nice, Tim said. He was glad he meant it. It would have been much more awkward to dislike the atmosphere of her mind than had he been repulsed by her appearance.

Can you feel anything?

It's warm. Was it the fire he felt or something else?

Okay, good. Since you're not empathic, you may not be able to detect feelings the same way. But I hope my love is part of that warmth. She gestured around her at the shelves. These books contain my memories, thoughts, and feelings. When you hear telepaths talk about 'reading' someone, we don't usually do it this way, but for you, you can literally read me now. Go ahead, pick a book.

Some of the thicker books had titles on the spine that didn't interest him, like "My Opinions on Politics". But some were more specific, like "Why I Like Beach Boys Music". He pulled it down and opened it. The pages didn't just have words printed on them, but like some animated movie, the pages had moving images that leapt out and space where you could dive in. Beach Boys music played and he saw images of lazy days lying on a towel in the sun and big bonfires with lots of people gathered around, roasting marshmallows.

A Spring Break at Galveston, Mary whispered, before Paul. Can you feel at all what I feel when I remember these?

He didn't get a big surge of emotion, but there did seem to be something besides just recorded sights and sounds. Nostalgia? Some regrets?

She nodded. You're right. Oh, nothing major. Just the standard wishing for youth kinda thing. I sometimes think I should go back to suppressing my senses so I can be with people again, like the old times. But then I try it and it always backfires.

He replaced the book on the shelf and then surveyed the room. It was cozy and inviting, but not big enough to contain all her memories and thoughts. This can't be your whole mind.

No. You're right. But if you ask for something, it'll appear. Try, "How I Feel About Tim O'Neill."

He didn't have to say anything. A book with that title appeared in his hands. It was large, but it was also heavier than it looked, like the pages could be made of lead or something. He looked down at it, hesitating.

Come on, you've been completely open with me. What are you afraid of? I already said that l-word.

Yes, but if I see it here, I'll never be able to write it off as some remark you didn't really mean. And I would know if I mess this up, I could really hurt you and I couldn't live with myself if I did that. He saw his breath turn into letters, the words transcribed exactly as he said them, and then drift right into the book he was holding.

She smiled. Another reason I love you. Tim, are you afraid to be loved?

Maybe he was. But her saying it so plain like that emboldened him and he grasped the book cover and threw it open. He'd half-expected cupids and valentine hearts to come flying out, but there were none of those. He felt warm again, this time to a much greater extent. The book felt almost too hot in his hands. He saw images inside of things he'd said and done. Some were expected, but some were downright silly, like how helpless and goofy he looked in a blindfold. The images danced and flew and he processed them faster than he could have in a movie. The book became hot and his hands felt like they might be burning, but the dazzling radiance and the intoxication that gripped him were too addicting. He couldn't let go.

Mary's hands wrapped around his and shut the book for him. He looked at his hands, expecting them to be blistered at the very least, but they were undamaged. The whole library was still hot, like an August day in the desert, but it wasn't sweaty or uncomfortable.

So now you know. It's not a bluff or a lie. I really do love you. And I know how you feel about me even if you have no words for it. What you feel is good and it's enough for me right now. Don't run away from it. Face it and name it. And tell me when you've done that. I'll be here, she patted his mind-image chest, just waiting and loving you in the meantime.

You can love me even if I don't love you?

She nodded. Yes, but not forever. The fire will go out eventually if you don't feed it anything. And if that happens, it's not your fault. Sometimes when one goes out on a limb, it breaks and one falls. That's the risk. You didn't ask me to go out on the limb. I did it all on my own.

He shook his head. You're not going to fall if I'm here to catch you. I swear I won't let you fall.

His breath became words and drifted into the book. Mary smiled back and he could have sworn he could smell contentment. I know, Tim. I know.